


Shawarma & The Battle

by sobefarrington



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Gen, Shawarma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-18
Updated: 2013-05-18
Packaged: 2017-12-12 06:23:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/808317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sobefarrington/pseuds/sobefarrington
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just a little extended version of the end scene.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shawarma & The Battle

Shawarma.

Clint wasn't sure what it was, but it didn't make any difference to him. Whenever his stomach was challenged with something new he remembered the days and nights in the jungles of South America where he feasted on cockroaches snakes... or the deserts of Africa when he had nothing. If the Shawarma was repulsive, it wouldn't be nearly as bad as those occasions.

Plus, there was the added bonus of more time with Natasha.

It was true that they remembered Budapest differently. While Natasha chose to recall the mission and nothing more, Clint couldn't help but think of the night of passion they'd shared. Cuddling on a rooftop in the middle of the city to keep warm, watching the glisten in her eyes change from exhaustion and frustration to a relaxed contentment. As if the pressure of the mission and the determination of SHEILD to see it through were lifted and she could finally just be in the moment.   
Clint saw behind the lies he would tell her when he brought it up before. How she thought she didn't need anybody. How she felt she was complete without another person to complete her. How she didn't feel lonely or wanting. All lies. All evaporated in that moment on the rooftop in Budapest.

Clint looked at her now, seeing her next to him at the table, chair pulled back and away from the group slightly so she didn't feel so boxed in. She kept her physical distance when she could. Though she cared for everyone surrounding her, she continued to be the outcast. She didn't have super human strength or special powers. She could fight and was good with a gun, those were her special abilities. She was also the only woman in a club of men. Rich, powerful, angry Gods. And she was the woman.  
Granted she thought herself tougher than some of the men who incompassed her, it still wasn't enough. She couldn't fly unless in an aircraft. She wasn't wealthy or well connected. She had a good grip on her anger issues. She wasn't from another realm. She was just plain, boring Natasha.

She noticed Clint, catching him watching her as she adjusted her seat, moving it away from the table. She needed her space. Emotions sometimes overwhelming for her. Today, after the battle, after what Clint had said about remembering Budapest differently. She needed her space.  
Of course she knew what he meant. She remembered what he did, she just chose to put it behind her as apposed to making the rest of her life about recalling it.

It had been one night. One night when she let her wall crumble. One night when Clint found his way into her heart and into her pants.  
Though the sex had been amazing, some of the best Natasha could recall having, she knew they would never last. Certainly not in the situation they were in. Two SHEILD agents, two master assassins, in a relationship. Natasha spent enough time worrying about keeping him safe when they were assigned to work together, she couldn't risk thinking about his safety when they were apart.  
Another lie she told herself.

Clint sipped at his beer, watching the color slowly drain from Natasha's face, leaving her with a pale blank stare. She was thinking about it again. Her body froze in the half hunch over the table as she mindlessly ate the Shawarma, which Clint had to admit wasn't that bad. She was silent and distant, taking small bites just to keep the attention off of her as she processed her feelings.

He knew what she needed.  
She needed someone to talk to. Someone to listen. Someone who understood the complexities of the job at hand. Someone who knew what she was going through.   
Someone she could sit in silence with without the awkwardness of it sweeping over them. Someone who would hold her and tell her she was important. 

Natasha needed someone to comfort her.   
She knew that. She knew deep down that she needed a partner she could count on. Not just someone who could keep her alive while hunting down war criminals or dictators. Someone who could keep her warm at night. Someone who understood when she woke at 4 in the morning from a night terror. Someone who would spend downtime with her reading Anna Karenina. Someone who could challenge her at pool or darts or Diablo 3. Someone who would know when she was feeling down and just hold her. Someone who would want to hold her.  
Someone she could trust not just with her life, but with all aspects of her life.

But there was no one who knew her like that.

It was then she felt something touch her back, when she was feeling as low as she could feel without drawing tears. She turned casually to find a black boot tapping her lower back gently. A black boot on the back of her chair moving at random, almost as though it were alternating from tapping her back to rubbing it.

Natasha slowly looked up to the foot's owner. Clint. Who had moved his seat enough so he could stretch his leg and rest his foot on her chair. She wanted to glare at him, but he knew her too well. The look on his face was one of sympathy and understanding. One of caring and adoration.  
He had made it very clear to her upon their return from Budapest that he cared for her. Cared for her more than he could show during their one night of hasty romance. He wanted to show her, almost begged her to reconsider, but she was very clear as well. She let him know their passion ended on that rooftop, and told him very firmly that he wasn't to speak of that night ever again, and that if he did she'd kill him.  
But Clint knew her too well. He saw through the lies. He remembered his words exactly.

'I'll never speak of it again. But know that I love you. That I'll always love you. And when you're ready to admit that you love me too I'll be here. I'll just be here... waiting. When you're ready.'

Natasha remembered the words too. She had felt the pull in her heart at that moment just as she did right then. Clint staring into her soul, heart breaking for her. Natasha looking back at him, heart torn between what it wanted and what her brain repeated.

He saw the change in her eyes, when finally her heart replaced her brain, and she smiled. 

Natasha's hand came down to pat and grip the boot that rested against her. She rubbed his leg, feeling the contact of another human spread from her hand through her arm and chest and into her heart.

Her entire demeanor changed, her body shifted and started speaking a different language. Not one of closed off distance but one of welcoming happiness.

She released her grip on Clint and returned to eating her Shawarma, as did Clint, who chose to leave his foot on Tasha's chair, holding onto the hope he'd found.

They didn't make eye contact again for quite some time, and neither of them noticed Tony watching the entire scene either.


End file.
